


Telephone (or the ingenuity of Mr. Stark Strikes Again)

by Cards_Slash



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Pre-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 00:11:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17714333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: Tony is a genius and he misses Rhodey.(repost from 2010)





	Telephone (or the ingenuity of Mr. Stark Strikes Again)

Tony had no self-control.  
  
Or really, it was not that he had an absence of self-control entirely but that when he wanted something and knew how to get it, he very rarely considered that self-control was anything he should (or might ever even want to) bother with. He had no need for it when he had ingenuity.   
  
When the idea hit him, right after a few hours of tedious software upgrades and just about the time he was letting his hands fall down the new and improved model of the Iron Man suit--all sleek and shiny and really better than the War Machine could be--not as bulky or preoccupied with big guns or that shiver of impressive presence. (It was right there, stuttering on the world  _presence_ , when the idea, more like a  _notion_  hit him.)  
  
He was rolling across the floor in his chair when the notion became a plan and his fingertips and Jarvis made short work of locating Rhodey. He had one foot on the desk and his arms behind his head, all stretched out and lazy in his sweat when he said: "Rhodey, do you know how long it’s been since we saw one another?"  
  
"Tony, this better be important."  
  
"Busy?" Tony asked with his head tipped back.   
  
"No," Rhodey said with a tight ball of tension in his voice like he was shoving on something too heavy to move. "Not at all. Unless you count--"  
  
"I don't," Tony said. He tipped his head to one side, watched the screen to see how Rhodey was fighting, "you look good out there."  
  
"You're watching me?"  
  
"Did you want me to help?"  
  
There was a pause and on the screen the white flash of the gun mounted on Rhodey's shoulder. The idiots trying to fight him were running backward toward cover and a puff of smoke obscured the picture just enough that it was hard to make out exactly was going on. "No. I can handle this."  
  
"Ah," Tony agreed, "So, it occurred to me that it’s been--how long has it been, Jarvis?"  
  
"Two months, one week, three days and seven hours, sir," Jarvis said helpfully.  
  
"Almost three months," Tony repeated.  
  
"That's not what he said, Tony."  
  
"It’s what I heard. Almost three months since we saw one another face to face and that means its been almost three months since we had sex and  _that_  is just unacceptable." He put his other foot on the desk, tipped the chair back and slid one of his hands down to his belly over the damp tank top wrinkled up above his pants.  
  
"Tony, you do realize that this suit is being monitored."  
  
"Nonsense, this is a secure channel and I know that Stark software is far better than anything the U.S. military has."  
  
"Airforce," Rhodey said automatically and the picture finally cleared enough that Tony could see him walking in the dusty-tan sand looking for the men that had run away from him.   
  
"Does it matter?" Tony asked, "behind you."  
  
"I can fight without you," Rhodey said as he turned. He sounded out of breath and angry and he always sounded best when he was out of breath and angry because it always came right before he shoved Tony flat against the mattress with a growl and a curse and fucked him until he forgot all about everything. "Yes, it does matter."  
  
"Almost done?" Tony asked with a curl of his fingertips at the hem of the shirt. Rhodey's breath was echoing out of the speakers and the echo of the machinery in the suit moving with a whirr, click and thud--the sound of the bullets like a big band in the background but more than that--more important than all that, the way he bit his lips with an audible little noise that wasn't a growl or a purr but something uniquely Rhodey that he never realized he was doing and would never-ever admit to. "Because I was thinking--"  
  
"No," Rhodey said.  
  
"--You should come over and we could--"  
  
"Tony, I swear to God, if you say another word..."  
  
"--fuck like bunnies and you could--"  
  
"Christ, Tony, what did I say? Didn't I say not to say another word--"  
  
"Blow me or something like that. It's been a long time and--"  
  
"Blow you? I'm not going to blow you. What makes you even think--"  
  
"--nobody gives head like you. I tried to program it into the simulators but--"  
  
"Simulators? Tell me you did not--"  
  
"Jarvis can't seem to duplicate that thing you do with--"  
  
"Jarvis? You brought  _Jarvis_  into this?"  
  
"No, of course not," Tony said, "That would be weird."  
  
"Tony," Rhodey said and it was exactly that kind of growl that sank straight through his belly into his dick and made all the breath in Tony's body hitch up tight in his chest. That tone of voice that whispered wet promises against the back of his ear when he was pinned against the bed and Rhodey was a weight against his back, curved against his body and shivering tight with effort and power and-- "I will  _never_  blow you again if I find out you have been trying to turn my mouth into a computer program or a robot, I swear."  
  
"You'll never find out," Tony promised. His voice was a mumble with his chin against his chest and his hand was between his spread open thighs palm at his half-hard dick through his pants.   
  
Rhodey paused--stopped--just standing there on the screen breathing inside the suit while the dust settled around him and that errant little fire burned off to his left. His head tipped to one side like he was trying to hear something better and Tony felt every little breath slipping across his own lips. "You're hard."  
  
"Not completely," Tony said. (Because he wasn't, not  _completely_.)  
  
"You called me for  _sex_  when you knew I was out here in a dangerous situation--you're watching me!"  
  
"I like it when you shout," Tony said with a giggle in his cheeks and watched Rhodey tip his head back to stare up at the sky like he'd be able to see the satellite watching him from down there. "I missed you," he said.  
  
"You missed sex."  
  
"I missed sex with you."  
  
"I cannot believe you," Rhodey said half to himself and half to him. He looked around again, scanning for anyone he missed and Tony leaned forward and tapped his fingers against the screen.  
  
"Now I don’t believe that at all,” he said and stroked his hand up and down his thigh from knee to dick. “Of course you can believe me. I am completely believable.”  
  
“So what is this?” Rhodey asked as he shifted his stance from offensive to something more casual, all the tension moving from his shoulders to his thighs and hips—and Tony could imagine how hot he was under all that metal, even with the cooling system. The sweat in the creases of his knees and elbows and between his fingers.  
  
Oh yeah, he thought about his fingers.  
  
“This?” Tony repeated with his hand stroking up and down and not bothering to pet his knee at all.   
  
Rhodey walked to the edge of the field, scanned around again (always, always a good solider that one) and then reported back to whoever was listening that the area was clear and that he was standing by. “You know what. Why are you calling me and stop jacking off I can hear you.”  
  
“You could see me,” Tony said.  
  
“I’m busy.”  
  
“No—I mean, yes. You could see me, you  _should_  see me. I want you to see me. Naked.” He grinned when Rhodey grumbled something he couldn’t make out that was disbelief laced with an  _of course he said that_. “You can see me right now, I’ll send you video.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Too late,” Tony said as he leaned forward and hit the screen. Jarvis asked him if he was sure he wanted to hack into the War Machine and he told him to hush because consequences were for men that didn’t have ingenuity and Rhodey’s bright punch of a curse when Tony’s image came up in the suit was worth more than any consequence.   
  
“Tony,” Rhodey said, “this is not the time—Jarvis, get this out of my suit.”  
  
“Sorry, buddy, he only listens to me. And Pepper. Mostly me, don’t you Jarvis?”  
  
“I would rather not take sides, sir,” Jarvis said.  
  
“See? He listens to me,” Tony said. He ignored Rhodey’s objection about how Jarvis hadn’t said that and leaned back in the chair again, knees spread open and back arched, grinning at the camera recording his image. “Miss me?” he asked.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Liar.” Tony twisted his fingers in the tank top across his belly and felt the buzz under his skin get a little sharper—heavier—and Rhodey shifted his stance again, trying to look impressive and terrifying and not at all like there was a porn show broadcasting in stereo volume inside his suit. “You missed me. Or you would have hung up by now.”  
  
“I  _can’t_ ,” Rhodey pointed out, “you made it impossible when you upgraded the software because you’re an attention seeking bit—do not take your pants off, Tony.”  
  
He was inching the zipper down with his thumb, shirt up around the glow of the arc reactor in his chest and he couldn’t stop the grin that was across his face because he loved it when Rhodey got all pissy like a demanding wife and started throwing his name around like he was going to give in and be chastised. “I’m not taking them off,” he countered with his hand dipping down through the open zipper, his wrist caught on the metal teeth and the scratch of them made his breath hiss through his teeth. It was wrong and right and good and bad and he pushed his hips up against the curve of his palm because he couldn’t stop. “Jarvis,” he said with a shake in his voice, “I want to see his face.”  
  
“I’m not watching this,” Rhodey said.  
  
“Close your eyes,” Tony said. He had to tip his head against his shoulder, back against the chair, all slouch and shaking knees and thighs keeping the chair back and rolling his hips up against his palm. Rhodey was on the screen to the side with his eyes staring to the side and not straight forward—acting like he couldn’t see and didn’t want to.  
  
“I cannot believe you,” he said again.  
  
“Oh yes you can,” Tony said, “you should be here. You’d believe every inch of me.”  
  
Rhodey snorted.  
  
Tony pushed at the waistband of his shorts, lifted his hips, inched his pants down—pulled his dick out and slid his hand up it once and down and let his eyes flutter closed. “Rhodey. Tell me what you’d do if you were here.”  
  
“Walk away from your selfish ridiculous ass,” Rhodey said. He was moving in circles like pacing, all motion and mechanical whirrs and clicks while he mumbled under his breath about this and about that and convinced himself that he had self control and—  
  
Tony licked his hand from his wrist to his fingertips with a twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. “You’d leave me here like this, all hot and sweaty and willing?”  
  
“I’m not listening to you.”  
  
No, of course he wasn’t. Tony had one hand down on the inside of his thigh where it was hot-hot skin and the other rubbing down his hard dick with his eyes half closed and getting heavy, focusing on Rhodey’s face on the screen as he stared and stared to the side and didn’t look at him. “You have rougher hands,” he said with the first stroke.  
  
“I’ve actually had to work for a living.”  
  
“They drive me crazy—all those women they have pretty soft hands and they don’t know how to—oh,” Tony said. He let his head fall back, pushed up against his palm and the chair rolled back and screamed an insult at him for the abuse. Didn’t matter, he dug his heel against the desk and flexed his leg and rolled forward again.   
  
“Jesus,” Rhodey said, “I cannot get a hard-on in this suit.”  
  
“Actually you can,” Tony said, “I know that for a fact.”  
  
“Of course you do,” Rhodey said and he was looking now. “Tighten your fist, use your thumb—yeah, like that.” His breath was heavy and Tony smiled at him, all pink on his cheeks and sweat slick between his fingers as he did what he was told—tighter fingers, rougher slid, a little spit and sweat and thumb rubbing across the wetness at the tip that just made his hips jerk up again and then again every time his fist slid up. “This is ridiculous,” Rhodey mumbled to himself, “Pepper’s going to walk in on you.”  
  
“Not the first time,” Tony said. “What now?”  
  
“You forgot how to masturbate?” Rhodey asked. He was staring at the screen now, watching his hand move with a twitch of his lips and tongue and tightening his hands in the machine until it must have been leaving scratches instead of dents along the palm. “How did you get a hard-on in this suit?”  
  
“Not comfortably,” Tony muttered, “tell me what to do.”  
  
“I’m not—”  
  
“Wish you were here, so you could—”  
  
“—telling you what to do—”  
  
“—push my knees up and finger fu—”  
  
“ _Damn it_ ,” Rhodey cursed and jerked in the suit out in the desert. “Do it,” was a pant and a huff and just as much a curse as the swear words he spat. “Suck on your fingers until they're wet and do  _it_.”  
  
“Yeah,” Tony sighed. He licked his lips and kept his fist moving while he sucked on his fingers, moaning red blushes around the taste of metal and sweat and the liquor he’d spilt down the side of the glass while he was working. He shoved his pants with an impatient fist and pulled himself closer to the desk with his heels by the monitors, chair as far back as it would go and when he reached down between his thighs he could— “Not the same,” he mumbled as he rubbed his fingertips and stroked his dick and bit the tank top because he was making silly noises like whines and thinking about breaking down into asking (almost like begging).  
  
“Push them in, forget your dick.”  
  
Oh God. He grabbed the chair, pulled his leg back, knee against his shoulder, thought about how he was going to fall on his ass as he pushed his fingers  _in_  and the slide was all awkward and rough and not what he wanted but some imitation of it. “Rhodey,” he said.  
  
“Two of them.”  
  
Yeah. Stretch, just a little burn and he started thinking wheels were the stupidest thing that a man ever invented as he leaned forward and the chair fell forward and rolled back and his feet were both on the ground. Rhodey was staring at him—the camera was following his motion as he spread his knees in a crouch, one arm on the desk, cheek against his fingers, listening to the heavy pant of Rhodey’s breath through the speakers and pushing-pushing fingers back inside. Not right, don’t where he wanted or how and his hips were rocking in circles as impatient as the sweat down his back. He slapped a hand against the desk.  
  
“Shut up and take it, Tony,” Rhodey said.  
  
“Get your ass over here and give it to me,” Tony said as he turned his face back up to the camera and stared at Rhodey on the screen—at his pink tongue and flushed face and— There was a red alarm on the screen to the side and when he turned his head the men Rhodey had been waiting for were close enough to see him. “Uh-oh,” he mumbled, “company.”  
  
“Get out of my helmet,” Rhodey said.  
  
“I’ll be waiting for you in my bed,” Tony said with a groan as he grabbed his dick again and blew a kiss at the screen before he reached up and hit the button to end the transmission.


End file.
